#if i have top surgery and now with a flat chest one of the ribs is visibly doing some crazy shit i will say . ah . ah yes you

[emperornero]

the idea that i fucked up one of my ribs because of unsafe binding and my fucked up posture for years and thats why a specific part of my chest and sometimes heart hurts is real . um [continues to live like im blissfully unaware of that]

[catreginae]

Thou Shalt Not Fall: Vampire Field Surgery

Warriors has an unwanted hitchhiker from a battle… but he has an unconventional method to get rid of it! This is probably going to be the last update of 2023 (I'm writing this on December 2023). This was the loser of a poll but I didn't want to make the people who wanted this chapter wait too long for it.

[Previous] - [Next]

View the Master Post here!

Something was wrong with Warriors. At first, Time thought that it was perhaps just a sore muscle or something that hadn't quite regenerated yet. The captain didn't seem to be in pain all the time, just when he moved in certain ways. He could walk, but stretching or bending made him wince.

By all means, it looked like something minor and while Time felt bad for him, he wasn't too worried. There wasn't much to do about it and it would pass if Warriors didn't push himself that much.

By lunch though, Time wondered why he ever thought anything with the boys was simple.

Time wasn't the only who noticed that Warriors was in pain. In fact, all of them did with all the looks thrown at Warriors as they travelled. When Wild spotted a good place for lunch and everyone settled for a bit, Hyrule demanded that Warriors take his shirt off and let him take a look.

And he actually listened. That was the first sign that something was wrong. Warriors was usually quick to shoo people off if it was something he could heal from on his own, but if he accepted help, something must have been bothering him.

After he struggled to get all of his layers off and he was wearing nothing but his pants and boots, he laid down flat on his back, settling his arms on top of his chest. Hyrule then started pressing his hand down on Warriors' abdomen just as Time joined them on Warriors' other side.

"Where does it hurt most?"

"Left side, closer to my ribs than my hips."

Hyrule nodded. He hovered his hand over Warriors’ body for a moment, then pressed down. Unlike the first few times Hyrule felt around his abdomen, Warriors recoiled and hissed, his fangs poking out as he did so. That didn't stop Hyrule though, who pressed and prodded until he was satisfied.

"That felt suspiciously hard."

Warriors hummed. There was a battle the day before, one that Warriors didn't leave unscathed, but Time thought it was strange that Warriors didn't seem to be in a lot of pain after the battle. Maybe Warriors was getting used to being in a constant state of injured all the time. They were going to have a chat about that.

But first, the problem at hand. Warriors clearly had some sort of souvenir from the battle that shouldn’t be there.

"It's an arrow head."

"Excuse me?" Time asked, standing up to make his way over to Wild.

"I can see it on my slate."

Sure enough, there was a small, yellow triangle on the screen inside a red lump on the ground that was Warriors shaped. Hyrule's jaw dropped and he wasn't even looking at the screen.

"Huh, that's kinda cool," Legend said over Wild's shoulder. "Didn't know it could pick something up through flesh like that."

"Don't you know how to remove an arrow properly?" Twilight asked.

"I didn't remove it, a moblin did! I just forgot to check for the arrowhead after. Give me a little bit of credit."

"How are we going to get it out?" Wind asked with a frown.

"There's no nice way," Warriors said, definitely a little quieter now that the subject shifted. "I'll need surgery and unfortunately, I had blood recently so I'll regenerate- wait, I have an idea."

He dragged himself to his feet with a wince and went over to his bag. After a little bit of digging around, he removed a piece of wood, sharpened to a point only on one side. He shoved it into Hyrule's hand. A stake. Why did Warriors have one? Why was he casually carrying around something that could actually kill him?

"Stab me with this right beside the arrow head. Don't stab me in the heart because I will actually die if you do, but anywhere else on my body should slow down my regeneration enough for you to get the arrowhead out. Theoretically. I haven't been staked before so I don't know how quickly I will actually heal from it."

Time understood the logic. Wounds associated with a vampire's weakness didn't regenerate as quickly as wound caused by anything else. It would cause a lot of pain at first, but if he suggested it, then Warriors must have preferred it to any failed attempts to beat his regeneration. All Time could think about was the time Hyrule and Legend kept stabbing his arm with needles to try and remove stitches he regenerated over.

There was a certain appeal to getting the arrowhead out the first time.

"I can't..."

Warriors laid down again, this time digging his nails into the dirt in anticipation.

"Someone will have to. That, or you'll have to burn it out. Take your pick."

Wild suddenly took the stake out of Hyrule's hand. "I can do it if this will actually help. Time, Twilight, maybe you should hold him down."

Time went down to his knees and held Warrior's shoulder and wrist down on one side, while Twilight mimicked the position on the other side. Wild sat on Warriors’ chest, with his knees on either side of the captain and with his right hand, he held the stake and with the left, he felt around for the best spot. The captain's face was surprisingly stoic but Time knew that Warriors was just trying to keep everyone else calm by pretending that he was calm and unbothered himself.

"Wild, you don't have to worry about infection, so please just go as fast as you can."

Wild merely nodded. Time didn't watch Wild after that. Wild counted down from three.

Warriors' bloodcurdling scream followed quickly after. Time could feel all of Warriors' muscles tense at once and for a second, he was concerned that the captain would forget to keep to his arms and torso still but thankfully, he settled for kicking. It was about the only way he could react to the pain without getting in Wild’s way.

Then, as quickly as it all happened, it was over. Everything was silent for a moment, then Wild held up a bloodied arrowhead in his equally bloody fingers. Warriors went completely slack as Wild made it to his feet and Twilight joined him. Time stayed close though. He had to make sure that Warriors was feeling better, especially since had a giant hole in his belly at the moment.

His fangs were still out, so his eyes were still yellow and red. He was trembling and panting heavily but otherwise, he was surprisingly calm.

"Can I... look at it?" Warriors asked, his voice raspy from his scream before. Wild was just about to answer when Four grabbed the bloody arrow head out of his hand.

"Don't give it to him. He's just going to lick it and if he wants the taste of iron so badly, he has better options."

"Hey! I resent the idea that you think I would hurt myself licking an arrow head."

"You aren't even denying that you want to lick it!"

"It looks tasty. Come on, I was just staked, surely I am allowed to have a taste!"

Four hummed to himself for a moment, then shook his head. "I'm going to clean this and then keep it away from him."

"I have some raw meat you can have once we've wrapped your wound. Prime cut! How does that sound?"

"I suppose that will do...”

To nobody's surprise, Warriors fell asleep after eating raw meat, drinking some blood, and thanking Wild for staking him. It put an end to their travels but the only person who would be upset about that was passed out under his blankets. Once Time was sure that Warriors was as comfortable as he could be, he went to go check on Wild.

Wild was humming to himself as he filled their canteens at the river. He stopped when Time approached, looking up at him with a raised brow. "Is something up?"

"I just wanted to see how you were doing. I know you did exactly what Warriors asked but it couldn't have been easy."

Time knew that if he was in Wild’s position, he would feel bad about staking Warriors even though his logic was sound. In fact, he felt kind of bad that Wild stepped in and did it. Time should have been able to do it but he hesitated. Wild paused, focusing his gaze at his reflection in the water.

"It helped him. That's all I really care about in the end. I know sometimes things get a little worse in the short term for less pain in the long term," he said with a shrug before he returned to the task at hand. Time didn't want to think about where Wild got the experience behind his words.

Wild stood up and moved the filled canteens into his slate. The younger hero didn't look bothered, which calmed Time's nerves a bit.

"We should head back. Twilight promised to teach me and Wind some wrestling one day and I don't plan on letting him forget about it. Today is a good day since Warriors will probably be out for the rest of the day and we could all use a distraction."

Time raised an eyebrow. "Did he now?"

Wild nodded as a smirk crept onto his face. "And I have some strength elixirs to surprise him with."

"Yes, we should get back to camp. We shouldn't keep Wind and Twilight waiting."

Time couldn't wait. He loved Twilight but sometimes, it was funny to watch him get thrown off.

[transenbyconfessions]

I have top surgery about 4 days from now and....... I’m really, really, really anxious. The most I’ve ever had done at the doctor’s is a sport physical in high school, I’ve never had any kind of surgery before. We’re expecting a storm over the next few days and I’m so scared that it’s going to affect us getting there and back even though it’s not a super long drive. My mom suddenly decided she “thinks I’ve been tricked” last weekend about being trans and she’s the one driving me but I have a backup if need be. She’s been nervous but begrudgingly supportive of the surgery since I made it clear I really need it, but I’m scared she’s going to take that back last minute. I’m scared that if I show any signs of doubt or worry that she’s going to think I’m not ready or it’s not a good idea. I know this is the best option for me. My chest isn’t even really large but sometimes it gives me so much dysphoria that I can’t sleep at night, I just lay in my bed and cry or have a panic attack. I have to fight not to self-isolate for days on end when it gets bad bc wearing a binder only helps when it’s for a little bit and causes sensory issues. I’m an actor and a singer and wearing a binder to pass onstage leaves me with aching ribs and back just after a weekend of shows. The thought of living the rest of my life like this just fills me with this gut-wrenching dread. Getting rid of these is everything I’ve ever dreamed of ever since I started puberty. And yet I’m still so afraid. I’m afraid of something going wrong, of people abandoning me because now I’m “too trans/too masculine”, of somehow suddenly realizing afterwards that I’ve made a horrible mistake and I’m not trans at all (although that one i can’t... actually imagine happening when I think about it). The concept of being finally flat again so soon makes me want to cry with relief but I’m still filled with so much anxiety about it and I don’t know how to deal with it. I know it’s mostly about the things surrounding surgery and the possibility of not getting it - but I always have that evil little thing in my head telling me to ruin anything that might make me happy. I’ve been scared like this before about things - moving, going to college.... but it’s never been this bad. I feel like a horrible person for having this fear and trying to fight that is taking up so much energy. I just want it to be done already.

[abe-the-detective-blog]

Ok can’t sleep and it’s the last day I’ll be able to not sleep before school and I gotta be a good boy and sleep ‘normal’. Soo get some 1920s headcanons from me!

Abe was 100% harassed, bullied, assaulted and abused by some people who knew about him being trans. He wasn’t open about it he kept it a secret but word would get out and…I’ll let you imagine the rest.

Top surgery was a thing back in the early 1900s but I don’t think it came to America to well well after, so I imagine he chest binned harmfully. There were a thing as binders back in the 1920s so working women in office didn’t “distract” men. They supposedly worked really well keeping them as flat as a man’s chest.

Now I imagine abe wearing one constantly since he was trans and a detective so had to always be flat. Now testosterone wasn’t a thing till 1935 but isn’t Wkm supposed to take place between 1920-1930s ish? Anyways I’m saying abe got some, from where? Probably saw a guy selling it and stole some let’s be fr.

Now did the group (William, Damien, Celine and Markus) all know about this, yeah but he would be hella hesitant to tell anyone. I would say he was friends with all of them just not part of the group. Like there was the group, and then everybody’s friend Abe.

I feel like he would tell Damien and Celine first trusting they’ll keep him safe if the worst happens. (Tell me those two aren’t ally’s and we’ll run rounds) just William happened to walk in on the discussion and it was hella awkward. Abe and just looked a at him with pleading eyes not to tell. Which William Damien and Celine all promise not to tell a soul about this to anyone.

Now here comes Markus. Abe was horrified to tell Markus about being trans. But it took less explaining than it took William. Markus says he’s manor is a safe place for Abe if needed.

Now here comes the tricky bit, name changing and correcting. Now if the group is talking with Abe or talking about him they all correct themselves and try to correct each other. Now the public mostly knows Abe as a man and as Abe. Now say William is talking with someone with Damien and the person brings up Abe for someone reason. If Damien of William start to miss gender Abe they give a stubble hint. Aka a cane to the foot or a elbow to the ribs. Celine and Markus have there own signalings, Markus it’s a gentle poke to the back and semi glaring into their eyes. Celine it’s nails digging into your arm, not hard but noticeable fast.

Next part! If at a party and Abe is starting to get harassed by people at parties, (mostly marks parties.) they each do something different. If Abe can’t get away from the person and there about to get violent. All do something different, William will literally pull Abe away and glare at the person getting them to shut up. (Your telling me you would try and fight a dude like William who I think was supposed to be some army dude or whatever?) Damien walks over and settles down the fight, charms the person and gets them to leave Abe alone, he keeps a close eye on Abe rest of the night. Celine just pulls Abe away and tells the man to shut up, if the man tries anything she sends will or mark after the guy being sure she smacks them too. (Girl boss lol) Markus now, he would push the person out of party or makes some butler do it while he stays by Abe’s side for a bit making sure he’s fine by himself then leaves.

Over all they love abe still and are protective of him but not codling.

Imagining abe and Benjamin actually becoming friends since abe would probably go to marks frequently-ish. He would go to get away from people who were harassing him or just to breathe. Just straight up.

Benjamin opening the door seeing abe there: ah hello si- oh dear inside now.

Abe who’s a bit beaten up being dragged into the house.: oh

Benjamin starting to clean up Abe’s face but is comforting him: I’m sorry this happened to you abe… you don’t deserve this treatment..

If anyone from the group sees abe getting actually hit or hurt by someone, it’s on sight.

[commajade]

gnc fashion anon here (lol) but i tried the denim + tucked black t-shirt and flannel today and felt very good about it!! i still need to get a t-shirt that isn’t too tight on the chest (though today i also discovered that if i wear a normal bra with a sports one on top it makes it looks more flat!) but i felt pretty good abt myself. you were so right about the way carrying yourself helps! i was always a bit self-conscious whenever i tucked a tshirt but today i went for it jjsksk and the hands in pocket also made me feel pretty good. sorry for the long ask but tysm again for the tips!

this is so heartwarming.... i am so happy for u.... i showed this message to my gf cuz they helped me respond to ur original ask :) my gf was in their accidental transmasc phase when i started dating them and had very good gnc fashion tips :D

they said that for them, going braless actually made it much easier to hide their chest cuz the shape of bra cups makes it more obvious that u have tits. if u have the right kind of loose fitting shirt and/or jacket, ur chest looks way flatter by just not wearing a bra. way more comfortable than 2 bras too.

u should be rly careful about how you bind/compress ur chest cuz it can affect ur spine, ribs, and breathing. before i got my breast reduction surgery i used to wear a binder sometimes and it didn't quite work for me cuz my chest was so large. when u do a double bra or other kinds of compression make sure u only wear it for a few hours at a time and stretch after u take it off!

for cultivating masc mannerisms, u rly have to just practice on ur own and integrate it into ur physical habits and get comfortable with it. and it's gonna be kinda cringe at first. in college when i started transitioning i rly rly wanted to have that ease of movement that teenage boys have, i wanted to be troy bolton so bad. and i wanted to have the automatic confidence and taking up of space that men have, but like not obnoxiously so. and now i rly don't think about it, i simply am masculine in a way that i am comfortable with and enjoy. and my gf saw that immediately on our first date even tho i didn't think i was behaving in a particularly masc way. i had been closeted again and living with my parents for a couple years at that point and feeling rly insecure about my gender presentation cuz i was used to doing the whole daughter act, and it was rly affirming and transformative to have someone i just met confirm that i had come that far.

[angellovebites]

Vent cuz it’s 4am and I can’t sleep still

Sometimes I’m hit with such jealousy and pain about a lot of things but tonight it’s my body again

I love my hair I like my face I think my legs are fine and I’m learning to like my shoulders and stuff but god damn it’s just

I dont look how i look in my head, how I wish I could appear. They’re so unhidable. My chest hurts and aches after hours of binding and squeezing and stuff but otherwise I just don’t feel good. I wish I could sleep shirtless comfortably. They get in the way. For years I’ve put my hand under them to feel my ribs, feel what I could feel if I were flat. But they’re always there. Sometimes I like them when they’re sensitive. When they fill something out nicely. When my love admires me and his hands love me. Sometimes I hate them and wish I could just be that happy 11 year old in the mirror, admiring my flat chest and flexing my muscles. Whenever I was asked what I was doing I’d give a big goofy smile and say “I’m a boy! See?” They’d try and soothe me. Say “oh you won’t be flat like that forever!” But I didn’t really want that reaction. I wanted to hear “yeah you sure look like one! Show me those muscles again kiddo!”

I remember as a teen, (naive and well meaning but desperate and extremist in my head), wishing, praying to god, that I could get breast cancer so they’d have to cut them off. Then they’d save my life and I’d finally be happy in my skin. I don’t think I understood how awful a thing I was wanting, but I figured there’d be no other way. Even then, I wasn’t thinking about money. I figured since I can never get top surgery while poor, maybe that’d work, forgetting that you still have to pay for medical procedures and I could just as much certainly have died of the cancer I wanted than have that surgery.

There may never be any winning, especially now as more states are outlawing things like these, even more so since I do not fit their box. I don’t fit any boxes. I wonder if people around me realize how painful that is for me. To always be mentioned last, if that, in positivity posts this can be said for gender and sexuality. To not fit in with the group, even the queer group sometimes. To never be fully sure of who you are, to know that others won’t ever see you as anything than the hand you’ve been dealt. Most people’s solution almost every time, is to change me in some way to get closer to a box. Thats what it comes down to. Change my clothes and change my look and change my hair and change the way I speak and what I like and how I present online and offline and everywhere and maybe if I just don’t speak people won’t think things maybe if I act deaf in public maybe if I wear a mask maybe if I wear platform shoes double bind so my ribs ache and never show skin I’d have a chance But I simply don’t fit? Why do I have to be in a box? I’m not so naive to think that I can simply do nothing and society at large would just know what i want; i do not correct people in public, I know what I look like. but even small scale…even people who SHOULD accept me, often times even people who’s LITERAL JOB is to accept me, cannot step over that tiny little barrier. And even IF I do all that in public? It’s been too many years and I can’t get away with people assuming I’m a young boy or something anymore, it makes no difference.

I heal every time my boyfriend calls me his boy. His Qing. Handsome. Attractive. Strong. Gender neutral things. He doesn’t lump me in with others because of how we were born. Even if I can relate to the EXPERIENCE, I still am not that, and I never feel like he thinks that. I am myself to him, unique on my own. I am so used to no one truly taking me seriously that any little comment he makes about my identity that reminds me “oh…right! He sees me as me! Not a Diet Coke person. Not a watered down version of anything. Just..me.” Makes me so euphoric.

Maybe someday it won’t hurt so bad, physically and figuratively, to be myself.

[jackwolfes]

trans crows ideas: kaz being a really really really really supportive cishet ""ally""" to the other trans crows until one day kaz realizes, *oh* i am too & then tells them maybe?

trans crows 0.3 // implied transphobia

Now, he thinks he knows. Now, he sees someone clock the short hair and the suit with a flat chest and say Mister Brekker and knows that that is what he wants. Now, he has understanding enough to be sure of himself.

At the time, he didn’t.

At the time — when he first met them, when he first saw them each come into themselves — he assumed it was something for other people. Something that other people did and knew about themselves and understood. Not for him.

Wylan had known since he was a child, he’s said, and Kaz figured that that was the only way to be sure. To always have had that sense of something wrong — worse than that very occasional itch he gets under his skin at the wrong time of the month, worse still than someone on the street standing too close to his chest. That’s nothing compared to the dread of bare skin on skin, the way his stomach rolls when someone touches him; it can’t mean anything the way it means things to other people.

Wylan had said he’d known from the start.

“Well, I was seven,” he corrects, on one of those late nights where Kaz isn’t really part of a conversation but hears enough. Eavesdrops, some might say. Gathers information, he’d offer back.

“Eleven,” Nina confirms, when asked.

“Probably fifteen or so?” Jesper offers. “Didn't do shit about it until I turned twenty.”

Inej stays quiet, which isn’t surprising, and Matthias stays quiet, because he has nothing to add. Kaz stays quiet too.

It’s a lot of different terms and words and things to be aware of, he’s found. Injections and patches, HRT, binders. Getting them surgery. Signing their deed polls. Sitting listening to Jesper bounce word after word after word at him – agender bigender genderfluid fuck maybe none of them I don’t fucking know – until he decides that queer will have to do now, won’t it? Kaz supposes it will. He does paperwork for Wylan, funneling funds to settle pre-op, and then more to carry him through recovery post-op. He waits up all night for Nina after first dates until she texts at three am saying it’s fine and he’s good with it and Matthias Helvar knows his way around a girl’s–

Inej hasn’t told them, but he helps her too. He lets her say around each silence that she doesn’t need their friends to know because she knows herself. He knows himself. They know themself. It changes, apparently, and that’s more than okay with him. God knows he’s more than just caught up with the person at the core of it all.

Kaz Brekker does the lot. All of it, every little thing, and all on top of shoving over any stupid fool dumb enough to think the lot of them just vying for attention. It isn’t, and Kaz is more than aware. It doesn’t happen all that often, and Kaz feels confident that he hears everything. Inej helps. What doesn’t Inej Ghafa know?

Kaz also feels quite confident that the person that last scrawled keep MEN out of the girls toilets on the Crow Club wall will neither want to come back nor be able to. They certainly won’t be welcome, once the crack in their rib heals. They don’t have time for that sort here. Every word spent on vitriol when they’re just trying to exist is a waste of breath. Still, Kaz bites back so they don’t have to — although sometimes it looks a bit like Jesper is itching for a fight. Probably best that Kaz does before he can step in, before someone gets shot by the trigger happy fool.

He’d deny ever doing this for his crew if they asked, but so what if they do find out? He might just care.

-

It wasn’t some grand revelation with every saint singing choral music down from the heavens. That’s what Inej made it sound like: I just knew. I didn’t once, and then I did. As simple as that, divine like her saints.

It starts with, maybe.

That maybe was probably it, where it is whatever little thing made him realise that he wasn’t quite as much of a woman as he’d once thought. That maybe that never really went away, not once he started to truly think it through. Each little ache in his spine when he drags his hands past his chest in the morning, each particularly uncomfortable twinge in his stomach when he bleeds.

Maybe that’s not right. Maybe it can be different. Maybe you aren’t just just fiercely concerned for the people that spend their time with your.

Maybe it’s something else.

Wylan knew when he was seven. Nina, eleven, and Jesper, fifteen. Inej says nothing when they’re all together, but Kaz knows for her it was sixteen. Matthias – not yet, but who knows.

And apparently, for him–

Kaz Brekker; twenty three.

-

A part of him thinks that he should do it one on one, that he should start slow and let it grow. That they don’t all need to know, and they certainly don’t all need to know at once.

He sees Inej on a quiet night, once, and wonders how bad it would be to just open his mouth and tell her then. She’s seen him in every single state. She already knows too much about where his vulnerabilities lie.

He has to assume that she already knows. What doesn’t Inej Ghafa know, after all?

It’s hardly like he’s going to have to worry about them being cruel about it. Still, there’s something tense, a bit anxious, sitting in his chest, with all of them sitting on one of those nights where Kaz mostly watches but sometimes, sometimes, finds the words to say –

“Listen.”

He speaks with enough force, spontaneity, something, that they do. They listen. The noise cuts out like that: all at once. Kaz can feel eyes on him. He does suppose that it always could go wrong.

Maybe.

There’s nothing to it but to finally, finally say it.

“My name is Kaz.”

It’s an honest thing, more honest than he thinks he’s quite possibly ever been. He is not one for honesty, for earnestness but these people are his crew, and he owes them nothing about himself – but there’s still a need for them to know this.

My name is Kaz.

He lets the little echo of honesty rebound, and doesn’t hold his breath. It is what it is, and what will be will be — although he can hope that he doesn’t have to find new friends after this.

Wylan seems to get it first, and he says a quiet little — “oh.”

Matthias is confused only for a brief flicker of a second before he schools it away into something neutral, but Kaz doesn’t think he understands quite yet either. That’s fine. He’s said his part, and doesn’t quite think there’s anything else to say. Not from him.

From them, though –

“Oh, shit,” Nina says, finally. She smacks Jesper’s upper arm, but likely only because he’s the unlucky skiv sitting at her side. “You’re coming out.”

“Oh,” Jesper says — and now Matthias seems to get it. Jesper laughs, though, all but reaching out and shaking his shoulder. He doesn’t, and Kaz is relieved. “Nice to meet you, man.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kaz can just about see Inej smile, and that feels like the best blessing in the world.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 9

This is a series. Start here. Continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: post-rescue, referenced starvation, scars, referenced attempted murder, noncon body mod, referenced nonsexual noncon nudity, PTSD, referenced noncon (that didn’t happen), self-blame, flashbacks, hallucinations, unsure of reality

For those of you who pointed out I forgot about Zelda in the last chapter with Vera... thank you!!

~

There was a sense of warmth to the light in the bathroom. Gavin could almost feel it on his skin like the brush of a breath, like the sun on his face. It was nothing like the cold light in the basement. Nothing. Even as his head felt both too heavy and too light at the same time, even as his stomach adjusted to the feeling of being full, he felt the light pressing into his eyes and felt real. 

He felt safe. 

He could still taste what he’d eaten for dinner, savory and sweet and sour, peanut sauce and chicken and noodles swirling together in what may have been the best thing he’d ever tasted. He’d only been able to finish half before he’d sat back, feeling almost too full to move. But Gray said that might happen. Gray said it might take some time for his stomach to get used to eating enough. 

He met his own eyes in the mirror. There were dark circles marking the skin beneath them, and the shadow of a bruise on his left cheek where Schiester had struck him as he dragged him to the gallows. His lip was split at the corner of his mouth. He pressed his tongue to the spot and winced at the burst of pain and the coppery taste. The scars on his face were carved deep, now, puckering the skin around them on the bridge of his nose, across his left cheek, and from the corner of his left eye to the hairline at his temple. The lines were reddish, almost purple, like they had been when they were fresh. It had taken three surgeries with the best surgeons in his parents’ region to make the skin lay flat, before. His face would look like this forever now. He was marked like this forever. 

His gaze dropped to his neck, to the ring of worn, weeping skin where the collar had rested. There were spots where the skin had been rubbed raw from the constant pressure, from Schiester dragging him into place and holding him down while he hurt him. Gavin bit down hard on his lip as he tried to look away from the marks there. As he did, his fingers brushed the scars on his right forearm.

Stormbeck.

He shivered. 

“You ready?” Vera croaked behind him. He jumped. 

“Y-yeah,” he murmured, turning to look at her. She was staring off to the side, her eyes unfocused – as if she couldn’t make herself look right at him. His throat tightened, and he raised one hand to run through his hair. It still smelled like the family’s shampoo. He let the scent wash over him, calming the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yeah, Vera.”

“Good,” she rasped. She stepped forward and plugged the sink, then grabbed the electric trimmer from the counter. “Um. Are you good to, um…” She blinked, and her throat bobbed. “You good if…”

“I can bend over the sink,” Gavin said softly. “That’s… th-that’s fine.”

Vera raised her eyes to his for the first time since… 

She’s not a monster. She’s not going to hurt me.

“O-okay,” she whispered, nodding jerkily. “Good.”

“Vera,” Gavin murmured, and reached out to take her wrist. Her gaze flicked down to the scars on his forearm. She shivered and looked away. “I’m not… Whatever it is you’re thinking right now, I… I didn’t have to… He never…” Gavin blew out a shaking breath. 

Schiester never bent me over anything. Even though I—

Gavin winced at the thought that followed: even though I deserved it.

But he did. Every moment of what happened was recompense, come too late to save any of the twenty-three lives he’d ended before he ever met Isaac.

Vera chewed the inside of her cheek and nodded again. “M’kay,” she murmured, her gaze faraway. “Good.”

She reached for a spacer and slid it onto the blade. Her hands were shaking. Gavin closed his eyes and leaned over the sink, bracing his elbows on the counter. He shivered at the cold ceramic against his forearms. Bent over like this, the collar of his shirt brushed against his face, and he caught Isaac’s scent with his next breath. The trimmer switched on. 

“You still sure you’re okay with this?” Vera said, her voice oddly distant. “I mean…”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured against the counter. “I don’t… I don’t want to look like… him.”

There was a long silence. The only sound in the bathroom was the sound of the trimmer, and the sound of Gavin’s breaths against the counter. Then, a cool hand settled on the back of his neck, and the spacer touched down a moment later. 

Gavin jerked. There was an electric razor against the back of his head, his hands were tied behind him, he was naked and on his knees on the linoleum washroom in Schiester’s basement. One of Schiester’s men was holding the razor to his head – “he used to cut hair, in his previous life,” Schiester would say, “back before your family destroyed everything good about the world” – and every now and then Alvarado would look at the picture Schiester was holding up for reference, a picture that Schiester would force Gavin to look at while whispering in his ear, “that’s your father, that’s the man who destroyed my life, that’s the man you are, and you’re going to die when I’m finished with you, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, Stormbeck—”

“Gavin?”

Vera’s voice. 

Gavin sobbed weakly, trembling, his knees pressing against the tiles of the bathroom. His wrists burned like they were tied. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, blinking tears out of his eyes. Vera’s gentle hands settled on either side of his face and eased his head up so she could look at him. 

“Gavin,” she said again. “Gavin Uriah. You’re okay.”

Gavin’s heart pounded against his ribs and his lungs burned with every inhale. He reached out and grabbed at her wrists. She released him but his grip tightened, and she hesitantly cupped his face again. Gavin’s gaze darted around the small bathroom as he gasped. 

“V-Vera…”

“Do you need me to get Isaac?” she said evenly. 

Yes.

No.

Gavin wet his lips and forced himself to take a breath. “N-no,” he wheezed. “I don’t…” He swallowed hard. His neck felt so strange without the collar. “I d-don’t want him… seeing this. Please, Vera, don’t… I c-can’t hurt him, he… he hurts when, um, wh-when I hurt.”

Vera sat back on her heels and brushed Gavin’s tears away with her thumbs. “Yeah,” she croaked. “He does.”

“I…” Gavin dragged in another slow breath. The room wobbled around him and his eyes darted around the bathroom. No hose in the corner. No cold white light above him. No rope on his wrists, no knife at his throat, no men holding him down, no collar on his neck, no icy blue gaze on him. 

Safe, like Isaac said. Safe.

Gavin cleared his throat. “Um…” He gripped the counter and dragged himself to his feet. His legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand. Vera staggered to her feet beside him. “M-makes me think of, um… of… him… cutting my hair, and…”

“Shit,” Vera breathed. “I mean, I can… I can try and do it with scissors, I’m shit at it, I mean… you’ve seen Sam’s hair when we’re on the run…” She huffed out a laugh. It sounded forced. 

Gavin shook his head. “N-no,” he murmured. “I… I mean, that’s going to… feel similar, too. And I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t just… n-not have a haircut ever again, I…” He raised his gaze and met Vera’s eyes. “Please,” he whispered. She blurred with his tears. “Please. I don’t want to l-look like him.”

Vera’s mouth twisted. “Yeah,” she said heavily. “I don’t particularly want you to look like him, either.” 

It felt so unreal, the half-hearted laugh that bubbled in Gavin’s chest. Everything felt real, and unreal, a dream and a memory and a thing that was actually happening, all at once. Shaking, he pushed out a breath and bent over the sink once again. 

“Just talk to me,” he murmured. “Just… just t-talk to me. I want to hear you.”

“Yeah,” Vera said gently. “Can do, Uriah.” 

Heat bloomed in Gavin’s chest at the name. The trimmer switched on again. He drew in a deep breath through his nose. 

“I’m gonna talk about my puppy, because I’m fucking obsessed with her,” Vera said. Gavin could hear the smile in her voice. This time, when the spacer touched the back of his head, he latched onto her voice, let it pull him out of the memories that threatened to suck him in. He kept his eyes open, staring into the sink. The white porcelain reflected the warm light above him. His fingers gripped the counter like he would go tumbling off a cliff if he let go. 

“So her name is Zelda,” Vera said, her voice sounding a little stronger. She drew the trimmer up the back of Gavin’s head. He shivered with the sound, the sensation. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to hold still. 

“Y-yeah?” he croaked. His fingers ached from clutching the counter.

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s a German shepherd. I got her from someone east of the farmhouse in this place called Eden. This lady breeds shepherds as like… her job.” Another pass of the trimmer across the back of his head. “She breeds them specifically to avoid their hip problems, and for temperament. I told her I wanted a chill dog, but I’ll probably still train her to guard the place.”

“That sounds nice,” Gavin said. His throat still felt raw from screaming, even after—

He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been since he’d been dragged from the basement. 

If I’m not still there—

NO.

“Yeah,” Vera said with a chuckle. “She’s at home right now. I figured dinner might be a little much for you, and I didn’t want to add to that with a crazy puppy.”

“Dinner was good,” Gavin said weakly. “It was… it was good to see everyone.”

“Everyone was glad to see you, too,” Vera murmured. “I mean…”

“Edrissa doesn’t have to be happy to see me,” Gavin said. The trimmer paused in its path across the top of his head. Locks of his dark brown hair lay in the sink. “She doesn’t.”

Vera drew in a deep breath and let it out. The trimmer moved slowly across his hairline. He lifted his head to give Vera easier access. As he did, he felt the cold press of her teeth against his neck, the white-hot agony as she tore through his throat, the pulse of blood on his skin as he fed on his flesh. He shuddered and whined softly. 

“I’m… I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight,” Vera said. “She—”

“It’s… not that,” Gavin gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Ahh…” Sharp teeth flashed at him in the dark and his eyes flew open. 

“Hey,” Vera said, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him up. “We can—”

“I just want to finish this,” Gavin rasped. He stayed bent over the sink. His breath riffled the short, single bits of hair on the porcelain. “Please, Vera.”

Please.

Everything he was feeling, felt like memories. They didn’t feel like hallucinations. There were no cold blue eyes watching him. 

This was real. It had to be real, or else…

There was a long pause. Then, the gentle touch of the trimmer against his temple again. “Alright,” Vera murmured. “I’m almost done anyway.” She drew the trimmer across his forehead, down the other temple, around his ear. Back and forth across his head, sending showers of tiny bits of hair into the sink. Gavin scratched at an itch behind his ear. Vera did one more pass with the trimmer and then shut it off. Gavin looked into the sink, breathing slowly.

“Gavin?” Vera murmured. “You… you still with me?”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured. “I’m… I’m here.” He half-stood, until Vera placed a hand on his shoulder again. 

“Hang on,” she murmured. She gathered the clumps of Gavin’s hair from the sink and pitched them in the trash can. “Just a second. You don’t want bits of hair all over you, believe me.”

“I know,” Gavin mumbled. He remembered all too well the incessant itching after the first haircut, how Schiester had laughed – and how Schiester had decided that from now on he’d have Gavin’s hair cut in the room where he was washed, naked and freezing and ready for the hose when he was done. Gavin shivered as Vera turned on the tap and guided him closer to the sink until his head was level with the stream of water. 

“Just real quick,” Vera murmured. “Just to get all the hair off.” She poured a handful of water over the back of Gavin’s head and gently scrubbed. “Yeah, there was still quite a bit left.”

Gavin forced himself to stop gripping the counter. He reached up, too, and scrubbed his head under the tap. He flinched when a stream of water rolled from his forehead and down his nose. 

“I think that’s probably good,” Vera said, and shut the tap off. She gently eased him up. “Here…” As he stood upright, she wrapped his head in a towel and scrubbed at his short, wet hair. She pulled the towel away and dropped it to the floor. 

Gavin felt a wrenching sensation in his chest as he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked so… young. He looked years younger than when he’d been taken, even with the bags under his eyes, with the sallow tone of his skin. He reached up and ran his fingers through the short, soft hair. His gaze wandered over himself and he took a deep breath.

“I… d-don’t look like him anymore,” he murmured. His eyes smarted. 

“Nope,” Vera said, popping, the p. She shivered and rubbed his shoulder. “No. You don’t.” Her lips quirked a bitter smile. “Now I can look at you. Thank god for that.”

Gavin nodded absentmindedly as he ran his hand through his hair, short enough to almost be fuzz. The scar on his forearm caught his eye and he dropped his arm. He shifted his eyes down and swallowed hard.

“Ready to go join the others?” Vera said gently. “I know they’ll want to see the new haircut, too.” This time, when she smiled, it was easier, brighter. Her shoulders weren’t so tense and pulled up to her ears. Her hands weren’t shaking as much. 

Gavin chewed his lip and sank down, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Not, um…” He cleared his throat. His skin ached for Isaac’s touch, and the thought of seeing Gray and Sam made his eyes brim with tears, but… he just needed a moment. 

He needed to look at himself and see someone who wasn’t his father. He raised his gaze to the mirror again. He could only see his face; the rest of his body was cut off by the bottom of the mirror. His throat tightened. 

“Okay,” Vera murmured. “Well… okay.” She turned towards the doorway, then paused, turning back. “You… you want the door open, or closed?”

“Open is fine,” Gavin murmured, his hand drifting up to feel the divots of the scars on his face. The scars Schiester had torn open again – after Isaac put them there, more than a year ago now.

Vera nodded once. “Okay. Come join us when you’re ready. We’re all…” Her eyes swam with tears. She pressed her hand to her chest as she swallowed hard once, twice. “We’re all really happy to see you.” Her voice was ragged.

Gavin wrapped his arms around his chest and nodded. “Th-thanks, Vera.” 

Vera chewed her lip, then turned to go. She went around the corner to the living room at the front of the house, where Gavin could hear quiet conversation, the occasional burst of tight, tense laughter. 

Gavin slumped forward and pressed his face into his hands. His eyes burned with tears that would not fall. He scratched at the needle marks on the inside of his elbow, his other hand pressing into his eyes, smearing his tears across his face. It felt real. 

It all felt real. 

Gavin drew in a deep breath and raised his head. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom was a figure – something that looked just like Edrissa. 

Slowly, he sat up straight, understanding crashing bright and powerful through his blood. Her clear, ice-blue eyes bored into him, her mouth twisted in hate. Her pale blond hair was pulled back away from her ghostly-white face. His gaze flicked to the knife held tight in her hand. 

He couldn’t catch the sob before it made its way out of his chest. The tears finally fell, streaming down his cheeks like blood. 

I knew it. I knew it.

Gavin reached up to pull at his hair, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. The short strands slipped through his fingers. Dread slid into his heart, dull and slippery. Right on its heels was despair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off the specter in the doorway that peered at him with cold blue eyes.

“H-hey, Schiester,” he croaked. “You… you really had me going on this one.” This time, he couldn’t muffle his sob as the specter stepped fully into the bathroom and closed the door behind it.

Continued here

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[neworleansspecial]

For black!au.....

Been in the mood for some Eddie whump lately. Maybe an enemy from Buck's line of work breaks into Eddie's house when Buck is off on a job. It's a night Chris has a sleepover or something so Eddie's alone. Anyway, Eddie manages to subdue the guy but he gets completely beaten all to hell in the process. Buck comes home and almost has a panic attack.

Thanks! ❤️

"Thanks for having me over," Eddie says as he places the silverware on the table. "It gets lonely when both of my boys are away."

Maddie laughs where she's standing at the stove, searing the steak that Eddie picked out from the butcher. "I know the feeling. With Jee and Howie out of town for the surgery, it's been hard. He calls me when he can, and sends pictures of her. I'm trying not to worry, but I wish I was there with them."

He nods. He kind of understands. It had been hard, being away from Shannon and Christopher when he was a baby, going through so many tests and treatments that were hard to understand. It's unimaginably difficult, and what Christopher was going through isn't nearly as dangerous as open heart surgery on a five year old.

"I know, but hey, she's got the best surgeon in the country. Evan made sure of that. She's in good hands, Mads."

That's not entirely reassuring, he knows, but he hopes the reminder can help put her at ease. Once the table is set, he pours them both a drink, and helps Maddie finish off the meal. It's a simple one- steak, potatoes, asparagus, and a nice red wine that Athena gave Eddie for his birthday the month prior. It's nice to have a meal with her. They weren't particularly close before Evan came to LA, but over time, they've become a rock for one another- no one else can quite understand the exact pain of loving someone like him as much as they do.

"How long has it been this time?" She asks. "I know how long it's been since I've heard from him, but..."

"A month since he left, but he texted last week. I couldn't tell where he was, but the picture he sent was on a beach. Want to see?"

"Of course," Maddie replies, and leans over the table while Eddie pulls up the photo.

It's a picture of Evan, smiling, with the ocean behind him and a blue sky that's nowhere near as bright as his eyes. There's a shadow of a bruise on his jaw that he was probably hoping wouldn't be noticeable, but Eddie sees it plain as day. What matters is that he was okay, though- well enough to let Eddie know he's alive.

"He said he's bringing home presents this time," Eddie tells her. "Something for everybody. I think he's celebrating."

"Maybe this is his last job before retirement."

Eddie raises an eyebrow and she looks away. They both know that's not the case, but it's nice to think about every now and then. After that, as they eat their meal, they lull into easy conversation about their lives and their husbands and their kids. It's a nice reprieve from the stresses of their lives for a time, and by the end of their meal, they're both a little buzzed and giggly.

"You shouldn't drive like this," Maddie says while they clear the plates. "Stay the night, I'll make up the couch for you."

With Evan gone and Christopher at a sleepover with Denny, there's no reason for him to be sad and tipsy in his empty home, so he accepts the offer. Before bed, however, they decide to catch up on their soaps, another thing they share. Community, Eddie has learned since coming to LA, is vital to their survival.

On their second episode, Eddie hears a window break in one of the bedrooms and his heart drops. There's nothing good about this. He doesn't have a weapon here, and he sincerely doubts Maddie would have a gun or let Chimney keep one in the house with their daughter.

He gets to his feet and drags Maddie to hers, taking note of her wide eyes. She's never been in a dangerous situation like this one, he thinks. Maddie never served overseas, never listened to Evan fight for his life while Eddie and Christopher hid in the next room. He won't let anything happen to her.

"You need to go, now," he orders. "Get in your car and drive. Go to Athena, or the station- somewhere safe- and call Evan, okay?"

"Eddie-"

"I'll cover for you. Go."

She nods and swipes her keys off the counter before running out the front door. He hears her engine start at the same time as the door to Jee-Yun's nursery slams open. He takes a deep breath. Whatever happens, his loved ones are safe.

The man who comes down the hallway looks like something from overseas- he's decked out in a kevlar vest, his face hidden behind a helmet with a thick visor, and his clothes look like black fatigues. He has an obvious sidearm, but it's not in his hands.

Eddie doesn't think he can outrun him. He'll likely get shot if he tries, and that won't end well for him. His only option is to stay here and try to hold his own until Maddie gets to safety and sends someone to help. He can only hope they arrive in time.

The two of them study one another for a long moment, but it's the other man who makes the first move, lunging for Eddie in a fraction of a second. He doesn't manage to dodge the hit to the face, and it sends him stumbling back before he regains his balance.

He swings and misses, then gets his feet swept out from under him so he lands flat on his back, the breath rushing out of him. The attacker falls atop him to pin him down, but Eddie manages to get a knee up to hit him in the groin. It gives him the chance to roll them over and get his hands under the helmet. With some effort, he pries it off to reveal the face of the man who just broke into Maddie's house.

He's young, maybe twenty five, with red hair and brown eyes and a scar cutting across his face. He bares his teeth like an animal and headbutts Eddie. Pain explodes from the contact and Eddie loses the upper hand he had.

They wrestle for control for what feels like forever, taking blow after blow that leaves bruises and pain and probably some broken bones. Eddie is sure he's cracked at least a couple ribs, he thinks some fingers as well, and he can't quite catch his bearings. He's getting tired fast, though his attacker is still going strong.

He doesn't want to die, he thinks. He isn't ready.

The door slams open a few yards away. This is it, Eddie thinks. Reinforcements. He's going to be murdered. The man is atop him, slamming him back against the floor so his head cracks into the hardwood.

Then there's a soft pop and a splatter of something wet and hot on his face. His assailant goes limp on top of him. It takes him a moment to open his eyes, but when he does, his blurry vison slowly clears to reveal a familiar figure over him.

"Evan?" he asks. It feels like he must be imagining him. "Are you real?"

Evan lowers his gun. He must have shot the man atop Eddie, killed him. The wetness on his face is blood. He can't breathe. He can't- he- he-

Then Evan drags the body off him and sinks to his knees on the floor beside Eddie. "Hey, hey, deep breath. It's okay. You're safe, Eddie, you're safe, I've got you. I'm here. Breathe.

Evan pulls him into his chest. Eddie grabs onto his shirt tightly and clings to him, focusing on the familiar scent of his cologne, and tries to figure out how to process what just happened.

[the-scottish-costume-guy]

Some thoughts on binding and binders

Going to try to be brief because frankly I have other things I’d rather be doing. I see posts go one of two ways about binding - “Its harmful, will ruin your life, will break your ribs-” or “Its fine, no risk, in fact its terrible to ask a trans person not to bind.” People need to get a lot more comfortable with grey areas because nearly everything in life sits in a place of some pro’s some con’s. To get this out of the way first, I dont bind anymore because Im post-top surgery now. I did bind for about 7 or 8 years. I was a 30F uk bra size. The companies I recommend for binders are Tkingdom, GC2B and Underworks (underworks was the one I felt most comfortable with as a larger chested trans guy). Binding Does have risks. It Can cause ribcage issues, it can damage breast tissue and yes that Is when its done correctly. The breast tissue damage can be skin thickening and premature sagging of the breasts. This does not mean you wont be able to have top surgery - it does mean they might have to take more skin during the surgery. To my knowledge this shouldn’t effect the type of surgery you are able to have either as candidates for keyhole and peri shouldn’t have as much issue with these side effects. Rib cage deformities can occur but these are much much rarer and usually align with pre-existing conditions. (Folks with conditions like EDS should be aware, especially if you’re binding in your teen years). These side effects occur after repeated binding over a long period of time. Cis women binding now and then for cosplay shouldn’t be at risk, non-binary people who bind semi-regularly should be aware of the risk if its something that may bother them.  Following safe binding practises will reduce the chance of these risks. Never double bind. Use trusted companies to get your binders. Get the right size - even if that means you wont be completely flat.  Don’t try and make your own binder with 0 sewing training. I have been taught to make body-altering garments for theatre and I would hesitate to take on a binder, it requires medical grade fabrics and a lot of know-how. I’m not going to preach the pros of binding on here because I’m sure most of the people who see this will know them. However with posts only going to the extremes with the negatives I wanted to share my own so every choice people make can be an informed one. Remember that those are Risks not promises - you Might experience them and you might not - you have to judge if its going to matter to you. If your plan is top surgery anyway I’m fairly sure sagging breasts isn’t going to be an issue to you. 

[mommymooze]

That’s My Spot

Hubert x Reader

Warning: Blood and guts. come on, there’s a war going on.

You’re the best healer at Garreg Mach. You teach new techniques and spells to Manuela.  If there is any research that needs to be done, you are the first person that they reach out to. Crushed bones? You can mend them together in your sleep. Identifying poisons? One of your specialties of course. You have a huge section blocked off in the greenhouse for your specialized herbs and plants. So why do you not work in the infirmary? Because your bedside manner leaves much to be desired. You can handle any unconscious person, but as soon as they start talking to you, it pisses you off and you say things that healers are not supposed to say.

Manuela’s favorites:

    Shut the fuck up or I will let you die.

    Move one more time and I will break this leg again and leave you.

    Leave me to my work. I don’t appreciate your staring. One more minute of you and I will scoop your eyes out with a dull, rusty spoon. (This is her favorite, most likely because you said it to Hubert as he was watching you work on an unconscious Edelgard. You don’t like an audience.)

Nobody knows it is you healing them, bringing them back from the brink of death because once they are conscious you are gone. Antisocial is your middle name. You have no friends except for books. You do nothing beyond medical treatment. Your food is delivered to your room every day. You are in the infirmary, your room, or the library.

There are no problems until the war begins. Then Manuela is pestering you to join them in Enbarr. She finally convinces you that you would have the same arrangements there. You will be left to your studies, not required to take any infirmary shifts, given your own laboratory and a small private greenhouse.

You settle in the Imperial palace well enough. You go to the library and begin to peruse every book they have on healing, poisons, and anything you feel may be useful to your research. After a few days you have found the perfect reading spot. There is a superb amount of light, the chair is very cushioned and low. You cannot feel any drafts, it blocks out most of the noise of others and is not obviously in sight of anyone that may wander about the library. A table sits at the perfect height for your notes and ink pot. A formerly empty shelf holds the most recent books you are reading. This is your spot. For three weeks not one person has disturbed your studies. Bliss.

This morning you turn the corner, coffee in hand, to see that someone is sitting where they do not belong.

“This is my spot.” You complain.

“Hmmm..since when.” Hubert scowls, not looking up from the book he is reading.

“This is the perfect spot for my reading and research. This chair does not suit you. You are very tall and your knees are higher than the seat itself. It is difficult for you to raise yourself to a standing position due to the low height of the seat.” You nag.

“I find it comfortable.” The dark mage smirks.

“Go find a chair for tall people. Chairs that allow my feet to touch the floor suitably are few and far between. You would think Emperor Edelgard would have more chairs suited to those with smaller stature such as ourselves around here.” You grumble, taking a sip of your coffee, looking daggers at the dark haired man hiding behind his curtain of hair.

“I’m staying.” He growls stubbornly.

“Fine.” You huff. You place your coffee on the table, retrieve the book you have been reading from the shelf and then climb up and seat yourself onto his lap.

“What is this nonsense.” Hubert cries, his hands go up in the air as you climb upon him, using the collar and lapel of his jacket to pull yourself onto him.

You are seated facing to his right. Taking your book in hand and removing your parchment that is marking your page, you begin to read where you left off.

Hubert appears quite confused, frowning at you. People are normally intimidated by him. Raising a single eyebrow can clear an entire room. To suddenly find himself being used as a piece of furniture by someone that is a half a foot shorter than Lady Edelgard is…concerning.

“What do you think you are doing?” He chastises.

You ignore him, reaching for your inkwell so that you can copy some notes from the book.

“Explain yourself.” The dark mage demands, a small concentration of dark magic begins to gather in his right hand.

“This is my spot. I am taking what is mine. Shut up or I will silence you.” You wave your hand, dispelling the magic that is gathering in his hand and return to your writing.

“Do you have any idea how many different ways I can kill you?” He leers at you menacingly.

“Do you have any idea how many times I have brought your sorry ass back from the brink of death?” You stick your index finger in his face, nearly stabbing his nose. “Removing poison laden knives from your ribs, stuffing your intestines back into your gut at two in the morning when you warp back from a messy mission, repairing cracks in your skull when you come back from a battle with a lance wielding lunatic. That’s just the start. Do you think that libidinous sot Manuela is the one that pieces you together? I’ve done everything short of reattaching your head to your neck. You need me. Your Emperor and the Strike Force needs me. Shut it, you ungrateful git.” Hubert’s head jerks back involuntarily. He’s not certain if he wants to blast you with a mire spell or laugh. The fact that you do not fear him in any way amuses him. He shifts in the chair slightly and decides to continue reading his book while attempting to ignore you.

Time passes quietly for several hours. You simply concentrate on your research.

“Ahem.” Hubert clears his throat.

“Now what.” You roll your eyes.

“I must head to the kitchens to test the food for Emperor Edelgard’s lunch.” He says flatly.

You continue reading. Why should you cooperate when he has not cooperated with you?

After a minute the tall dark haired man puts his book down. He sees that you are taking no action to remove yourself from his lap. He puts his hands under your arms, lifting you and placing you standing on the ground. He frowns as he has difficulty getting up from the chair as you had stated, however he brings himself to standing, refusing to not give you the satisfaction of telling him ‘I told you so.’ Without another word he leaves the area.

Scrambling onto your chair, your beloved spot, you continue your work.

--------------

Several weeks pass by. Your spot is safe and sacred most days. However, just to annoy you-of that you are certain-Hubert is planted in your chair one day per week. Just for spite he places large and uncomfortable items in his pockets, hoping to annoy you. You did not sit close to his body, just upon his legs which are very long and it is no problem to be perched closer to his knees. One day he decides to warp away, dragging you with him. Unfortunately for him, he arrives at his destination in that oddly shaped position causing him to fall flat on his ass and you landing across him. You cuss a blue streak at him as you leave and return to the library.

--------------

These are times of war, and as the army goes, so must the medical staff. You shove away a crying and gasping Linhardt as a barely breathing Caspar with more blood on the outside than on the inside is brought before you. Your magic glows brightly in the blocked off section of the medical tent as you work miracles. Caspar is moved from your surgical table to a clean cot, no blood seen on the outside any longer, his color is amazing considering all that he has been through.

Another battle a few weeks later has Dorothea rescuing a freshly speared Ferdinand, the spear sticking through him completely and exiting his back on the left side. Only Hubert dares to approach your sequestered surgery for brief observations. Your eyebrows heavily furrowed in a frown of concentration, your low worktable containing Ferdinand and multiple metal instruments and vials. Your right arm is nearly up to the elbow inside the man, glowing brightly with healing magic. You work on him for several hours before you finally sew the front exterior wound shut.  You clean him from head to toe, addressing every wound on his person, continually going back to his abdomen, concentrating and sending magic to specific areas to treat. Slowly you drip concoctions into his mouth, massaging his throat to assist him with swallowing. One last check listening to his breathing, listening to his gut, then you send him to a bed for recovery. Quickly you clean everything and are ready for the next patient to put back together.  

-----------------

Back in Enbarr you are allowed two weeks of uninterrupted time in your spot. Your reprieve is broken this day. Hubert sits sipping his coffee as you turn the corner. He places his cup down upon a shelf and pats his lap.

You hesitate, take a deep breath and place your coffee cup down on your table. Hubert lifts you onto his lap and rests his chin on top of your head as he hugs you gently around your waist.

Placing his cheek on the crown of your head he says, “Thank you.” in a deep, soft voice.

You close your eyes. “I don’t ask for thanks. I’m doing my job.” You say, trying so hard to not reveal how much this means to you.

Hubert hugs you a bit tighter and you involuntarily sigh. He leans back keeping you close to his chest, his cheek still resting on your head.

Maybe, you think, it is time to have a friend.

[avenging-fandoms]

OOOOO Im a sucker for Derek Morgan! Do you mind doing 29 (I can’t imagine a world/life without you.) and 5 (Don’t you dare to leave me. Not now.) from the Prompt list? You can decide if they're married, dating, or just haven't confessed their love yet! Could the reader be the one that gets hurt?

5. Don’t you dare to leave me. Not now. 29. I can’t imagine a world/life without you.

—

you held onto derek as he held onto a swat agent, walking towards the bank. your eyes widened as you hear rossi telling everyone to abort, but it was too late. you were already too close. a loud explosion, losing your grip on derek as you all fly backwards.

dark. quiet. scary. wake up, wake up, wake up. yn, please, open your eyes, let me see those pretty eyes. derek’s voice echoed, but was drowned out by a ringing. your eyes feel like weights as you open them, staring up at derek. “there you are, hey, i’m right here, i’m not going anywhere”

you look at him confused at you felt his hand pressing to your side. “d..derek..?”

“shh.. shh.. no, don’t move. “medic! please i need a medic” your eyes were panicking now, your breath uneven. a piece of debris lodged into your side, poking against your ribs. your eyes close again, letting out a breath. “no no no no no, don’t you dare leave me, not now. we still have our life to live, baby. we have our babies to have and we have to grow old together, you can’t leave me now, come on”

the medics rush over and help you, derek refusing to take his hands off of you. he finally did, and you panic, reaching for him. “i’m right here, i’m not going anywhere” derek looked at hotch, who nodded.

“call us to fill us in” derek nodded and gave garcia his fbi vest, hopping into the ambulance with you. he holds your hand and watches your heart monitor, scared when it started to rise and then get lower.

“come on, baby, come on. you’re a rockstar, come on mama” after what feels like forever, the ambulance finally arrived to the hospital. he follows you to the surgery room, and he’s forced to let go of your hand as they past the surgery doors, nurses holding derek back. tears flood his sight, anxiety building in his chest as you’re rolled further away from him.

he runs to the bathroom, cleaning your blood off of his hands. derek grips the sink, bowing his head and praying that you’re okay.

—

derek’s head leaned against the wall as he slumps in the chair, arms crossed over his chest as he rests his eyes. you had been in surgery for hours now, and he was getting more antsy by the minute.

he heard a ton of footsteps, peeking his eyes open and seeing the team walking towards him. he stands, everyone giving him a hug.

“did you guys get ‘em?” he asks, his voice scratchy.

“yes, jj kicked some ass” rossi said and she smiled “how is she?”

“i haven’t heard anything, she’s been in surgery for hours now. it feels like years, man. i can’t lose her” penelope rubbed his back, giving him a side hug.

“you won’t lose her, morgan. she’s a strong one, she’ll put up one hell of a fight”

—

a couple more hours of the team waiting together, the doctor finally came out.

“are you for mrs. morgan?” derek stood up and everyone followed.

“is she okay?”

“she flat lined during the procedure, but mrs. morgan is doing just fine. she’s resting now, she lost a lot of blood. you can go see her, but please, 2 at a time” derek nods, shaking his hand and the doctor walks away. the team follows as he basically runs to you, standing outside your door, staring at the curtain.

his footsteps are nearly silent as he walks in, pulling the curtain back and looking at you, a NC in and ivs all in your arms. derek slowly stands next to your bed, placing his hand on top of yours. “look at you, i knew you could do it. you’re so strong, baby. i’m so proud of you”

the team stands outside his room, giving him smiles. “derek, do you want to go home and shower and i can stay? just in case she wakes up?” spencer offers and derek sniffles, shaking his head.

“no, i wanna be here when she’s awake. i’ll call you, thanks kid” spencer nods and hugs derek. everyone gives him once last hug before he shuts the door, staring at you before he falls asleep in the comfortable hospital chair that reclined.

he’s here, next to you. he’s snoring, your husband, he’s here. wake up. wake up. wake up. you jolt awake, making derek jump too. “derek?”

“hi mama. how are you feeling?” you look at him and smile softly, tear running down your cheek.

“better. i feel better with you” you lay your palm up and he holds your hand, standing up and giving you a long kiss. he pulls away, forehead on yours as he smiles at you.

“i love you so much, sweetheart. i can’t imagine my life without you” derek whispered, tears flowing even more. he sits back down, head on your thigh as your rub your hand over his hair.

“i love you more, derek. so much more” you whisper, smiling as he kissed your wedding ring.

[whumpiary]

whumptober 2020 | day 1: let’s hang out sometime

[content warning: discussed past self harm, referenced past abuse, mild dissociation/depersonalisation, intimate whumper]

-

There's something harrowing — gut-wrenching — about seeing a grown man cry. It's almost painful. Just watching someone with utter poise and dignity let it slide and crash because they don't care anymore who sees them crumble.

It's enough to make the one watching crumble a little, too. Just a little. It doesn't even matter what it is that they're crying over. A loved one in a hospital bed. A job that came to an end too quickly. A lost pet. Some spilled milk.

A boy strung up in the middle of their parlour, hands high above his head, barely standing where he's chained.

Christopher sobs silently, one hand clamped over his mouth as the other grips the edge of the desk he’s leaning against like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He had started tearing up as soon as he’d started taking away Cass’ clothing: a soft little gasp as he caught sight of the first scar, and then growing grief as more skin was exposed.

The first sob took the man over as the last scrap of clothing fell away and he’s been braced against the desk since. Shoulders softly shaking, eyes squeezed shut. As though he can barely stand to look at the boy in front of him without being overcome.

Cassius is cold. He registers it dimly. Distantly. This body, right now, isn’t his own. His senses seem to know that, relaying everything from a distance. Like hearing the radio from someone else’s car. Like watching the TV in the reflection of a window. 

The cuffs around his wrists cut in and his calves are starting to burn and his lungs ache from breathing against stretched out ribs and he also doesn’t care about any of it. He’s back here again. A whole new cycle that he always knew, not so far below the surface. And every scar across his body is a road map of a world that Cass already feels like he never escaped to to begin with.

Christopher  brings his hand to Cassius’ cheek and as though on muscle memory, Cass leans into it.

“My darling boy,” the older man whispers. His eyes are tear-filled still, searching Cass’ own desperately, as though for some sort of answer. Cass has none. “My darling, darling boy. What have they done to you?”

Cass holds Christopher’s gaze and for a moment wants to share with the man the entire history of the last few years. Every secret. Every truth. Give them up. Give them over. Undo. But he feels muzzled. Gagged. Like his lips are sewn shut.

There’s nothing to say. There’s everything to tell. 

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher says. His hand skirts over the scar near his shoulder, the one down his arm, the one at his ribs. Like a fucked up dot to dot. “I’m so sorry. If I had known… My god, darling boy, if I had known…”

Cass nearly laughs at that. He would have what? Bought the company just to win his contract back? Stolen him away? Killed Tucker with his bare hands? Or would he have shaken the man’s hand and given him a bonus? Asked to sit in for the next blood letting?

Christopher starts with the obvious.

“This one,” he says, pads of his fingers tracing the gnarled, raised scar along Cassius’ ribs. “Tell me about this one.”

“Got stabbed,” Cass mumbles. His mouth feels full of cotton wool. “Job went wrong. About a year in. Maybe later. Can't remember. Had to have surgery.”

Christopher sucks in a breath, deep and shuddering, covering his mouth on the exhale as another silent tear slides down his cheek. He brushes his cheek dry again with his knuckles and takes another breath to calm himself, lowering his head. For a moment, his hand sits heavy on Cassius’ hip, as though he needed it to steady himself. Cass rocks back on the balls of his feet just barely and the man’s grip seems to tighten in kind, keeping him still and close. 

They stay just like that for a moment until Christopher manages to collect himself, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, drying his eyes with a sniff. He drops his hand from his face to trace the scar again, breath stuttering. Cass feels seasick with the the touch. A dragging back of forth over scar-tissue he can’t quite feel properly.

“The scarring is terrible,” Christopher says.

Cass closes his eyes for a moment. If he imagines enough, the cool, dry hands are warm and steady instead. They’re firm and sure instead of claiming and caressing. They’re pulling him back together, stitch by stitch. The memory is such a sacred indulgence, he has to shake his head a little to clear it again.

“Yeah, they... fucked the stitches,” he says, voice croaked. “Had to get it redone.”

Another shaking breath. Another sniff. Cass keeps his eyes lowered. He doesn’t need to see the grief.

“Well that surgeon deserves to be fired.”

They go on like that. Christopher touching each scar, having him name and catalogue them, one after the other.

The thin one over his bottom lip. “Bar fight.”

The short thick one at his collarbone. “Lab test.”

The nick up by his brow. “Beat down.”

The curving long one down his arm. “Don’t remember.”

There are a few like that. More than he’d have expected. The burn on his arm. The glossy skin on his knuckles. The twisted one at his knee. Don’t remember. Don’t remember. Don’t remember.

And Christopher in between, mourning each one. Touching them, pressing his hand to them as though he could will the scars healed with his grief. Christopher has to keeping taking breaks for more tears and sobs. Like over, and over again he’s realising what he’s lost. Of what he once had. What he’ll never have back.

“My God, what have they done to you, darling boy?” He whispers it over and over again and over again. “You were so beautiful. So perfect. What have they done to you? What have they done?”

It takes them a while to retrace every new mark on him since Christopher has seen him last. The man is methodical and thorough. Scrupulous. Cass is almost startled by how many he finds. More than Cass would’ve discovered on his own, he’s sure. By the time they get to the last few, Cass can’t feel his hands. 

“I’m so sorry, my love, I know you’re tired,” Christopher says with a kiss to the cheek, a hand cupping his jaw. His eyes are filled with sympathy and apology. As though he isn’t the one who’s doing this. As though this is some necessary procedure instead of his own predilection. “We’re nearly done. Last ones.”

Christopher holds Cassius’ gaze as his hand drifts low, skirting a decent gathering of little scars at his hip, over his thigh. They’re smaller, these ones. Harder to see. Only a shade or so lighter than his skin these days but piece by piece, bit by bit, they stack up, start to look noticeable. Little fine nicks and cross hatches, some raised, some flat, all faded.

“These ones here. The lab again?”

Cass drops his eyes. He stares at them for a beat, stares at what he can see beneath the man’s hand anyway, before looking back to Christopher.

“No,” he says. He feels a thrill to say it. “Me.”

A sharp intake of breath. “Excuse me?”

“I did those ones myself.”

A beat. “I thought we broke you of that little habit.”

And they had. For a while. – You’ll be hurt on my terms or not at all. – But Christopher should’ve known it would be one of the first things to resurface once he was out of reach. Why shouldn’t it be?

Cass smiles at the older man, eyes dead. “If it helps, I thought of you every fucking time.”

Which isn’t true entirely but shit does it feel good to say it.

The slap that flies hard and brutal across his cheek feels good too.

“Don’t you do that to me,” Christopher says, after a moment. His voice is soft and quiet and sad. Shaking with what was maybe a little anger. Funny. It was rare to see Christopher show that card. “I’m hurting badly enough today, I don’t need your cruelty on top of it.”

Cass keeps his head turned, staring at the arm of the leather rancher’s sofa beside him. His cheek burns, hot and tingling with the blood rush, as Christopher’s hand trails up and to his shoulder. As the man steps behind him, both palms pressing at his shoulder blades. At his back.

“And these?” he says. Cass’ eyes shutter closed, breath all at once catching high in his chest. Christopher’s been saving these, he knows. The crosses and lines on his back. One after the other after the other after the other.

Cass can’t answer to these. He can’t say. Can’t bear to. And, by some virtue of generosity, by some kind of twisted, fucked up grace, Christopher doesn’t make him. “He gave these to you?”

It takes him another minute. A long, hard minute of trying to breathe. Christopher allows him the mercy of the hesitation. And then, shakily, he nods his head.

Christopher sucks in a shaky breath as his palm presses to the scarring and Cass can tell he’s crying all over again. The sob shakes down Christopher’s arm, into his hand and hits like a jolt of electricity through Cass’ spine. It feels like it shakes his

“My God. This is cruelty. This is… this is cruelty.”

And Cass could laugh at that. He really could. After everything, everything this man has done. After everything he’s put his head through and his heart through and his body. This is cruelty, is it? Finally, this is cruelty.

Nah, it’s not cruelty. He wants to say. Penance.

He’s glad the words don’t actually make it past his lips.

Christopher’s hand runs across them over and over, again and again, and the feeling is so strange, so tender, so violating that Cass finds himself pressing his face against his arm and screwing his eyes shut, as though to hide. Skin then scar then skin then scar. Numbed then felt. Hot then cold.

Every trace of the crosses feel like he’s being stripped bare. As though with every caress, Christopher is peeling away a layer of numbness, a layer of armour, an exoskeleton. The world is like a burning thing without it all.

Cass hangs his head, arms still stretched up and aching, and he sobs, voice pulling out of him in a broken whisper. “Please stop.”

The plea seems to bring Christopher to the surface of whatever grief laden fascination he’s lost in and the man circles in front of him, hand cupping his cheek, thumb catching the tear that slides down it. Christopher’s tears mirror Cassius’ own as the man presses their foreheads together and Cass is sure they look a lovely picture of grief.

Shared martyrdom. Saint and saviour.

Maybe the man should have crucified him instead.

“I’m so sorry, Cassius,” Christopher whispers again, and Cass cringes and cries and keeps his eyes shut. “If I had known… I promise you, if I had known…”

It’s a mercy beyond measure that the man never finishes the sentence.

[gingyboo]

Mirror Mirror

A/N: Again many thanks to @booglebug

Description- Soulmates existed. People knew that much. Soulmates were rare, a handful in each generation, an unexplainable phenomenon that formed a bond closer than blood and more sacred than marriage.

Bucky finds his soulmate when he needs her most. Little does he know how much she needs him too.

(Soulmate au that slots pretty much in to the MCU but with soulmates. Set after TFATWS.)

Pairing- Bucky Barnes x OFC

Warnings- Mentions of violence and guns, but its mostly fluff, drama and angst.

This is a multi chaptered fic.

Please like, comment, reblog!

prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

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Chapter 7

Something snapped between them, an unfamiliar force locked them tighter together. Bucky’s arms looped round her back, pulling her against him. She felt his hands fan out across her back, felt his heart beating against her chest. His mouth was desperate against hers ad he pushed her back, too hard, to the wall behind them. Nancy let out an auditable gasp as her head hit the wall. Bucky jumped back.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered.

“It’s okay, that was intense,” she caught her breath. She moved forward to join him, but he took a step back.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He whispered

“You won’t.” He let her join him this time.

“Sometimes I don’t know my own strength. It’s been such a long time Nancy, I don’t know if I know how to treat you right.” He admitted, swiping a finger over her cheekbone.

“Then I’ll show you.” She whispered taking his hand and leading him into the bedroom. She sat him on the edge of the bed then straddled him carefully. She traced her fingers over the contours of his face, ran a hand through his hair before pressing her forehead against his. She kissed him softly then, hands exploring the expanse of his back. He followed her lead, gentle kisses, softly striking her back, one hand found itself in her damp hair. She lowered her hands on his back, attempting to hitch his t-shirt up.

“Wait,” he said drawing back.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to.” She said holding her hands up.

“Believe me, I want to, it’s just it’s not a pretty sight.” He gestured to his chest and shoulders. Nancy felt her heart drop.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” She jested. Bucky’s brow creased in confusion. Taking a deep breath, Nancy pulled her vest over her head. Now sat in her plain black bra she gave Bucky full view of her abdomen. It was littered with small round scars beneath her rib cage and the side of her waist. They were evenly spaced, clean and tidy. Bucky ran his fingertips over a few of them.

“What happened?”

“Explorative surgery.” Nancy shivered under his touch, she struggled to meet his eyes. “When the blip happened and half of everything disappeared, I got sick, really sick, the doctors couldn’t work out what was wrong. I was so weak I was so weak, I couldn’t walk, I could barely stand. I spent a year in my hospital bed being fed from a tube.” She indicated to the scar at her waste. “I was losing weight like crazy and the doctors couldn’t find a cause, and so they resorted to surgery,”

“Did they find anything?” Bucky asked.

“No, eventually they declared although I was weak, I was stable. They sent me home after some rehab work. I was still always so tired though, most days I’d be sleeping 20 hours or more. I recovered slowly, built my strength back up. It took a few years, but I managed.”

“So, you never knew what happened?” He skimmed his hands up her side now, finding her shoulders and squeezing the tension he felt there away.

“No, I found out, Bucky the blip took you away, when that happened you took part of me with you. I’ve never felt stronger than the day everyone came back.”

“Nancy, I’m so sorry.” He gasped out.

“It’s okay, it’s all going to be okay now.” She reached forward for him, finding his lips again. He drew back briefly to remove his own t-shirt. Baring the mangled flesh of his left shoulder to her. She looked at it briefly, the point where metal met flesh in a seam of scar tissue. She pressed her palms flat against his chest.

“Does it hurt?” Nancy whispered, Bucky silently shook his head, staring at her hands against him.

“Nancy,” he breathed.

“Yeah,” she looked up, locking her eyes to his.

“Thank you.” He said softly, capturing her lips in his before she could question him. She giggled appreciatively in response.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later they lay together in a tangle of sheets and limbs. Nancy’s cheek rested on Bucky’s chest whilst he ran his fingers through her hair. Nancy shifted slightly and Bucky noticed her wince slightly. He paused his ministrations.

“I didn’t hurt you did I?” He fretted. Nancy pressed a kissed to his sternum before pulling herself up onto her elbow.

“No, you didn’t.” She smiled sleepily at him before laughing softly, biting her lip.

“What is it?” he couldn’t help smiling when she laughed, he could listen to that sound all day.

“It’s true what the movies say, it is different with your soulmate.” She blushed profusely.

“It certainly is.” He agreed stretching out and pulling her close into his side, kissing the top of her head. “Sam and I talked and we both decided, we are going to go after these terrorists, we’ll get to the bottom of all this and we’ll get you safe.”

“Okay, where do we start?”

“No Nancy, me and Sam, you should stay here, they can protect you.”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t, I owe Wakanda an un-payable debt. Whoever those men were, they mean to harm this place as well as you, I can’t allow that. And I won’t risk you either, I need to know you’re safe.” He rolled to face her. “I’ll need your help though, we need to find out who they are and what they want.”

“And you think I can help with that because?” Nancy raised her eyebrows at him.

“Because you’re as stubborn as you are beautiful,” he kissed the tip of her nose, “you won’t give up till you find the answers.”

“I still don’t want you to leave me.”

“I’ll never really leave you,” he traced one of the scars by her ribs, “not again.”

“you’ll carry my compact with you.” She said suddenly, “and you’ll see me, whenever you need me text me and I’ll be waiting by a mirror for you.”

“hey, hey, I’m not going yet, but soon, and of course, I already look for you in every window I pass, every puddle on a wet day, everywhere.”

“I’ve been doing the same thing.” she laughed.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

They stayed in bed the rest of the evening. Bucky briefly got up to find food and brought back a small picnic of bits he’d found in the fridge. They ate together whilst Bucky told her stories from his childhood, speaking of his sisters and Steve, then he listened to her tales of boarding school and the exploits that she had got up too. She told him about the friends she’d had who’d gone on to bigger things whilst she’d been left behind. He told her what he knew of his captivity and what he remembered of the first time he’d seen her, how he hadn’t know what was going on the winter solider had tried to shoot her reflection. He tried apologising again but Nancy wouldn’t hear of it. She told him about her great-grandmother whose necklace Bucky had admired. The old family story of how she’d eloped to marry Nancy’s great-grandfather, how they had been soulmates from different classes. She joked that Bucky could have met her back in the 40s and not remember it. They ended the evening curled round each other again. Bucky humming softly whilst Nancy slipped into sleep. Bucky watched her, he couldn’t move without disturbing her, but sleep evaded him. He watched her instead. The gentle rise and fall of her chest, the way her toes twisted in the bed sheet as she shifted to get comfortable, and the way she burrowed tight into his side.

He didn't know when he fell asleep but his dreams were full of Nancy's laugh, her smile and the colour of her hair in the sunlit car. It was the best nights sleep he'd had in 70 years.

[plaidstiel-wormstache]

My Hero

Summary: When Sam gets hurt on a hunt, Dean learns the truth about Reader, and Reader learns something new about Sam. Word Count: 1524 Characters: Reader, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, monsters, doctors Warnings: Blood, surgical type “gore”, supernatural violence, fluff, crack A/N: this was for the UnFic Challenge by @spnfanficpond​         Beta’d by @butiaintgonnaloveem​ (Gif should be reversed!)

Sam went soaring past me, crashing through the door frame and slamming into the wall, slumping to the ground. "Sam!" I yelled, running to his side, lifting him up, gingerly, to sitting. I looked up at Dean, his eyes still roaming the hall and doorway where Sam had come from. "There's two." Sam coughed out. Dean glanced down as I quickly assessed Sam, he was clearly favouring one side of his body, possible broken ribs. "Stay here, we've got this." Dean instructed. He nodded once at me. I placed a hand on Sam's shoulder as I stood up straight, but he grabbed my wrist as I turned to leave. "Be careful." He wheezed. I smiled and turned, I wouldn't make promises I didn't know I could keep.

I tapped Dean's shoulder as I caught up, stilling outside the doorway for a breath, then we entered the room. He swept right, I swept left and then we swung around, covering our backs. But it didn't matter. The monster was holding himself in the beamwork of the ceiling. The ceiling! As it took Dean out, his gun went flying and they were suddenly grappling on the floor near my feet. But Sam had said two, and I looked up, gun following my line of sight, and there it was. I managed to get off a round as it launched, the controlled pounce turning into a free fall, but it wasn’t dead yet. The gun went sliding along the floor as we both fell to the ground. With adrenaline coursing through my body I managed to beat the beast to the knife strapped to my thigh, and plunged it deep into its chest. It gargled and whined, then went limp. I pushed it off and clambered to the closest gun, turning with it gripped tightly in my hands. The other monster had Dean by the neck, clearly winning the fight. I didn’t hesitate, I trusted my aim, and it collapsed to the side, rolling off Dean. Two monsters dead, all to worry about now was Sam.

I ran out of the room, and dropped to my knees at Sam's side; he had a trickle of blood over his lip and down his chin, he'd paled and his breathing was even shallower than when I'd left. "Sam?" I breathed, running my hand over his hair, brushing it off his face. He tried to smile at me but spluttered, producing more blood. My mind slowed down, everything happened as if in slow motion, my body calmed, my hands steadied; I pulled at his shirt, lifting it up to reveal the cause of the damage, he had a large, purple bruise positioned over his ribs. Broken, as I’d suspected, but with the shallow breathing, he'd probably punctured his lung. I was made aware of Dean's presence by the sharp intake of breath and the low call of Sam's name as he saw the bruise. "I'm sorry Sammy, this is gonna hurt." I said, his eyes widened and looked to Dean for help but I was already reeling back. I punched him - hard. One punch placed perfectly could knock even Mike Tyson out, and I'd landed it. He dropped into my awaiting hand. "What are you--” “Knife.” I demanded. He looked confused, not catching on, “Knife!” He startled, but pulled the clean blade from the back of his waistband, placing it into my awaiting hand. "I need alcohol, whatever kinda spirit you have in the car." I told him, and this time he moved fast. I lowered Sam to the ground, maneuvering him gingerly, so he was lying flat. I unbuttoned his shirt and cut a slit up the middle of his undershirt, exposing his side and the angry bruising. 

Dean burst back through the abandoned cabin and dropped to his knees at my side, laying out the first aid kit and the small bottle of vodka. “I don’t know where this came from, but it was under the seat,” He began to explain, holding out the small bottle of vodka. I snatched it from his hand and unscrewed the top, pouring it over the blade and then washed my hands with it. “What are you--” Dean began, eyes wide. “Make sure he doesn’t move,” I instructed, bedside manner had never been my forte. I splashed more vodka over Sam’s side as Dean positioned himself near Sam’s head, a hand on his shoulder, the other gentle at the top of his head, comforting. "You might wanna look away." I said, but I didn't check to see if he'd paid attention before I sliced a small incision into the bruise over Sam’s side. Blood poured out and I pushed at the swelling to encourage more of the blood to escape, “Jesus, YN--” Dean muttered, but he wasn’t making a move to stop me. I took a loop of the hard and hollow plastic tubing from the kit and sliced it to an angled point, then fed it into Sam's wound, puncturing into the pleural space around the lung, more blood spurted out the top of the tube, but  when it stopped, there was a gurgle. Then Sam took a sharp inhale of air. "Fuck." Dean murmured. I began to pack around the wound and the tube, using anything I could get my hands on from the first aid kit. "We gotta get him to a hospital." I said, finally looking up to see Dean’s pale face.

“What the fuck was that?” Dean asked once the hospital staff had wheeled Sam away. “A test tube thoracost--” “In English.” “I performed a test tube insertion. His lung had been punctured by his rib, and the space around his lung was filling with blood, I had to relieve the pressure, that’s the only way--” "Where did you learn to do that?" He questioned, looking at me as if I were a stranger. I scoffed and sat down in the waiting area, “Did you always wanna be a hunter?” “Yeah,” He said with a definite nod, as if it was a common dream. “Well...” he’d taken the wind out of my sails, “I was in training to be a paramedic when I…” I was beginning to realise he didn’t know the story of how I’d wound up hunting, “ I kinda found myself possessed.” He sat next to me, raking a hand through his hair, shoulders slumped. “I didn’t know that,” He said. “I wasn’t raised in it like you and Sam.” “Yeah, I knew that, but … I figured someone you knew…” He sat back, turning in his seat to look at me, “What happened?” “It’s a long story,” I sighed, letting myself sink into the square plastic seat. “We’ve got time.” 

Sure enough, we did; it was three hours before someone remembered us, coming with forms for Dean to fill out, then a doctor came around, explaining the damage, congratulating me on the “life-saving surgery”, discouraging me from ever doing it again. He explained Sam’s care, to potentially hire a professional if we were going to continue to hang Christmas lights… yeah, panicked thinking wasn’t my strong suit, and a fast mouth wasn’t Dean’s. Then he showed us to Sam’s room, pulling the curtain behind us.

“Hey, Sammy, how you feeling?” Dean cooed as he rounded the bed to stand next to his brother, looking him over. “Groggy, but okay,” Sam managed, voice hoarse after surgery. I noticed the band around his wrist and twisted it, curious to know if he gave a name or they’d taken it from the sheet Dean filled out. “Hey, what happened after…” Sam trailed off, frowning at his lack of memory, “I can’t remember too much,” “Probably for the best,” I muttered, giving him a warm smile when he looked up at me. “She knocked you out then cut you open and stuck a tube in you,” Dean explained. “What?” Sam asked, head whipping to his brother. I sighed loudly, rolling my eyes at Dean. “It was a simple chest tube thoracostomy,” I lied when Sam looked back for explanation. “You know she was a paramedic before all this?” Dean asked. “Well, I mean, I knew you’d studied,” Sam said, eyes wide, face unreadable, questioning and yet in awe. His hand found mine on the bed, and squeezed. “Saved your life though, man,” Dean said, gripping Sam’s shoulder. “You’re amazing,” Sam said, eyes full of adoration, even in the drug induced haze, his eyes shone. “You’re on good pain meds,” I teased, brushing it off before he could make me blush. But his hand squeezed mine, pulling me closer. “You’re my hero,” And he must’ve been on the good stuff, because his blinks got slow, his head seemingly heavy, but he was waiting for a reply, holding sleep off until he got one. “High,” Dean whispered, comically concealing his mouth from Sam’s sight. “I’m no hero, I put my bra on one boob at a time, like everyone else.”

***

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[idiotwithasword]

Binding safety + tips

In case you don’t know what binding is it’s when someone, usually afab, uses a binder to make their chest appear flat. Binders are usually used by trans individuals to pass and get rid of their chest dysphoria but it can also sometimes be used by cis girls for cosplays or crossdressing. Binding can be dangerous and that’s way there is many safety rules that you should respect when you bind. 

I, as a trans male, have been binding for a bit over a year now. The informations I will give in this post are both based on personal researches as well as my own experience. 

In this post I will give you the basic infos that you need to have before you start binding, safety tips on when and how long you should bind as well as other useful tips. Please notice that while I will give some of the more basic tips, that basically anyone who already researched a bit on binding knows I also have some lesser know tips that are just as important so even if you already know about binding I suggest you try to read a bit through this.

I/Starting binding

1- Getting a binder

First of all if you are trying to flatten your chest, know that you can’t do it with anything. I know it’s tempting to use anything you can get your hands on just so you can finally look flat, believe me I do and I can personally attest that you should NEVER use anything else than a binder. Tape, bandages, ribbons, cellophane or anything else than a binder IS A NO. It can cause very serious damages to your body such as: broken ribs, breathing problems and more. It can prevents you from binding again in the future and it can even prevents you from top surgery so really it’s not worth it, plus it really isn’t that effective.

Same goes for DIY binders. There’s many tutos for how to make a binder yourself and they’re all just super unsafe so even if it “seems safe enough” don’t do it. Just don’t. I will try making a post about how to appear flat without a binder someday so if you can’t get a binder: wait for it.

Now, I told you that you should never use anything else than a binder to bind but not all binders are safe. Some brands are super unsafe and can cause as much troubles as bandages. I will also try to make a post about binder brands when I’ll have gathered enough informations in the meantime these are the brands that are highly recommended: GC2B (I use these binders and they are really good) and Underwoks. There are some other good brands  but I want to make more researches before I talk about them. DO NOT BUY CHEAP BINDERS, DO NOT GET YOUR BINDER ON AMAZON OR EBAY, DO NOT GET A BINDER LABELED AS LESBIAN: THEY ARE NOT SAFE.

2- Getting the right size

Getting the right size can be difficult but it’s very important. A binder that is too tight is dangerous and not more effective so always be extra careful when choosing a size. All the binder brand’s sizings are not the same so look closely at their sizing charts and follow the instructions they give you.

You should always measure your chest when buying a binder, do not try to guess your size because that’s just a good way to end up with a binder too small or too large. Remember that your size may vary from a brand to another so for exemple if you already have a GC2B binder in size S but you want to buy a binder from spectrum outfitter you should look at the sizing chart and follow their instructions to measure your chest. The size of your chest can also change very quickly so even if you’re buying a new binder from a brand you already know it’s better to check your size again.

Always get the right size. DO NOT EVER get a smaller size, it’s stupid, dangerous and useless because you can end up not even being able to put your binder on. If you are in between sizes: get the bigger size. A good binder should be comfortable, easy to breath in and shouldn’t be hard to put on and off. I know there’s a lot of jokes going around about getting stuck in your binder but if it takes over a minute to put your binder on or to take it off chances are that it is too small so you should get a bigger size. If you have any doubts just send an email to the brand and they will help you. 

3- Avoiding binding

As you’ve probably noticed by now binding can be pretty risky, even when getting the right binder and following all the safety rules on the long term you might still have problems, especially regarding your skin elasticity and your lungs capacity. The best way to avoid any problems is to avoid binding as much as you can. Don’t bind if you don’t need it. If you don’t have any chest dysphoria you don’t need a binder, I can’t stop you from binding obviously but it really doesn’t worth it: a binder is expensive, can be painful and can cause severe health issues so if you don’t need it don’t get one, there are other ways to hide your chest that are way more healthy (unless you use a binder for cosplay or crossdressing because in that case it’s occasionnal so if you follow the safety rules you don’t risk anything)

If you have any health issues than could prevent binding such as asthma, scoliosis, chronical pain, breathing problems or anything else: check with your doctor if it’s safe or not. If you can’t ask your doctor well you know your conditions and limits better than I do but I would still advice you to bind as little as possible and avoid it if you can, as I said: there are other ways to hide your chest.

No matter what you should ALWAYS listen to your body. If it hurts: take a break. If it doesn’t hurt but you’ve been binding for over 8 hours: take your binder off. Your back hurts: take a break and stretch. It’s not 8 hours yet but despite your break you’re in pain: take it off. The pain is lasting: stop binding and see a doctor. 

II/How to bind

1- How long you should bind

Some sources will tell you to never bind more than 6 hours a day, some will tell you that you can go up to 12 hours. From my researches what I recommend is to not bind over 8 hours a day and only go up to 10 hours max if you have no other choice. Take as much breaks as possible during the day and if you end up binding for more than 8 hours a day take a break from binding in the following days. Of course you should also stop binding if it causes you pain.

You should also not bind every day. It is advised to take a 2-3 days break where you don’t bind at all to let your body rest. The break should be longer if you had to bind for too long or if you have any sort of pain.

Something that isn’t told enough is that you shouldn’t bind for 8 hours as soon as you get your binder, you should give time to you body to get used to it, for exemple bind for 1 hour on the first day, 2 on the second day and slowly go up to 8. If you take long breaks from binding (for exemple if you stop binding for a few weeks) you should also do this.

2- When you shouldn’t bind EVER

Do not bind when you sleep, first of all because it won’t be comfortable but also, and mostly, because you breath differently when you sleep and a binder is too restrictive to allow you to breath without hurting yourself. Don’t ever keep your binder when you sleep, even if it’s only for a nap. 

For the same reason you shouldn’t bind when you exercise. Some binder brands, such as GC2B do say that you can exercice in their binder but really, don’t do it unless it’s very small exercising. Some binders can go in water so you can swim in them but don’t use them if you do swimming as a sport and it is better to have a bigger size if you swim in your binder.

Now this one isn’t very known but it is extremely important so feel free to share it with every perso who binds you know: DO NOT EVER BIND IN A PLANE. It’s very dangerous. Just don’t do it. Please.

3- When you should really avoid binding

These tips are all based on personal experience, you are not putting yourself in danger if you choose to not follow them, they are simply meant to help you have a more comfortable experience with binding

- Take of your binder when you rest, even if you’re not sleeping, it’s more comfortable and if you accidentally fall asleep you will be safe

- Avoid binding if you are tired, you will breath more easily and I usually find myself in pain more easily if I’m tired

- For the same reason, avoid binding if you are going to drink alcohol

- Don’t bind if you are about to face a stressful situation, especially if you are prone to panic attacks because you need to breath

-Don’t bind when it’s hot BECAUSE THAT SHIT IS HELL ON EARTH

- Avoid binding if you’re going to walk a lot too, it’s just more comfortable and at least you won’t sweat in your binder idk

- Also I really recommend to not bind if you are not sure when you’ll be able to take your binder off

-  Take your binder off if you are feeling too uncomfortable or have back pain

III/Other tips

WATER. DRINK WATER. ALWAYS MORE WATER. YOU NEVER DRINK ENOUGH WATER. DRINK MORE. ACTUALLY EVEN IF YOU DON’T BIND JUST GO AND GET WATER.

Always carry a safety bra with you in case of emergency so you can take your binder off and go on for the rest of the day with some comfortable sports bra

Stretch. Stretch before you put your binder on, during the day, when you take it off. Just stretch, it’s good

Take care of your skin. Binding can give you acne and stuff so always wash your skin correctly.

Wash your binder often. especially if you sweat a lot. 

TAKE MORE BREAKS ALWAYS MORE BREAKS BREAKS ARE GOOD

Ok now I know all these rules sound super strict, I myself don’t follow all of them all the time but this is really what is the best to do for your body in order to avoid as much pain or discomfort as possible. Binding can really be dangerous and you should really be careful if you want to avoid any injury that could prevent you from binding or getting top surgery. Be safe. Have a good life.